Piano Man
by illuminata79
Summary: A young waitress is fascinated when she meets the good-looking and somewhat mysterious new piano player at her workplace ...


The title song is, of course, dictated by the title and contents of the story. It simply has to be Billy Joel's "Piano Man", not so much for the lyrics but for the feeling it conveys. The atmosphere was one thing that inspired me to write this, but what inspired me a lot more was a certain photograph of a certain man sitting at a piano with the perfect air of a breathtakingly beautiful, mysterious itinerant piano player. (Pity I can't include the picture here, but I'm sure you ladies know what I mean anyway.) Scraps of this story have been floating around in my mind for ages - it was why I had Mick take piano lessons in the first place.

_... it's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday_  
_and the manager gives me a smile_  
_'cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see_  
_to forget about life for a while ..._

* * *

Rosie was dragging her aching feet a little as she walked up to the bar. The thought of working late into the night made them hurt even more.

It had been a gorgeous night out dancing. She had ruined the soles of her best shoes and she'd had far too little sleep, but it had felt so good to glide, whirl, and waltz around the dance floor, now in Jeff's arms, now in those of one of his friends and, in one case, even those of a perfect stranger.

The downside had been Jeff waking up with a dreadful hangover and a really foul mood. They'd had a vicious row ending in her kicking him out on the street once again. She wasn't too bothered about that, though. She was sure he'd come back. He always had.

She wished her week off wasn't over yet. If she was honest, she didn't actually mind being on her own without having Jeff around, meaning she'd have her narrow bed to herself, there were no smelly socks strewn all over the floor, and, what was best, no sudden mood swings to spoil the day.

Right now she'd have loved to lounge in her creaking armchair, enjoying a cup of tea and the romance novel she was currently reading. But it was time to get back to work, there was no changing that.

She sighed, telling herself once more that she could count herself lucky to lead this kind of life at all and shouldn't complain about her work. Most of the girls back home were married by now, getting bossed around by some good-for-nothing husbands and harassed by a bunch of snot-nosed children clinging to their apron strings. She shuddered at the thought, glad that, at twenty-three, she was free to do whatever she pleased, unaccountable to anyone, earning her own money.

She'd moved away from home after her father died, supposedly to take some secretarial training in Portland, but she'd quickly dropped out of the boring lessons in typewriting and shorthand to accept the job at Harry's bar not far from the port. It was a rather respectable place, not one of those seedy taverns with some special services offered in a little chamber above the kitchen, but her mother, who thought Rosie had successfully completed her classes and gone on to work in an office, still would certainly not have approved of her daughter serving crowds of loud-mouthed sailors. For her part, Rosie had become quite fond of the raucous bunch that filled the bar in the evenings, their bawdy laughter and their good-natured teasing.

The men liked her, not only for her well-rounded bust and shapely legs but also for her resolutely easy-going nature. She knew she was pretty with her Irish colouring - thick dark hair that fell nicely around her fair-skinned face in soft waves, round cheeks with dimples that drove every man crazy when she smiled at him, and sparkling blue eyes looking freely into anyone's face, even in situations that would have made most well-mannered girls blush and cast down their eyes coyly. She'd taken her fair share of suggestive jokes. Usually she either found them funny enough to laugh good-naturedly or she rolled her eyes in contempt, and if someone got all too obtrusive, she didn't shrink back from dealing them a well-placed slap on the hand.

For today, she hoped the guests would leave early for once. It was five in the afternoon and she'd have seven or eight hours of work ahead of her even if she was lucky.

Oh well, she told herself, maybe I'll get one of the boys to buy me a few drinks and let me sit with him and his friends for most of the evening. Let Bella do most of the work for once, that lazy cow.

This resolution lifting her spirits, she gave the door a tentative push, hoping Harry had already unlocked it and she wouldn't have to walk round the back again. She wanted to sit down for a few minutes before the crowd arrived and maybe grab a bite to eat. Joan, the cook, often kept some tasty leftovers aside for her.

As the door swung open, she was surprised to hear piano music, a moving tune of bittersweet, simple beauty, notes slowly rising and falling in a way that somehow reminded her of shining pearls dropping one by one onto a marble floor.

This could never be old Isaac torturing the chronically ill-tuned instrument. She wondered if Harry had finally had someone tune the thing or if it hadn't been out of tune after all and it was just Isaac's clanging his untalented way through popular melodies that usually made it sound so bad.

She parted the curtain that hung behind the door and stopped in her tracks.

The figure on the piano stool certainly was not Isaac.

The person playing this amazing, moving music she'd never heard before was a stranger.

An attractive stranger.

A bolt of lightning hit her the moment she laid eyes on him, although she didn't see much more from where she was standing than a mass of wild black curls, broad shoulders beneath a pale grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring suntanned forearms, and the enticing movement of his hands over the keyboard.

The melody ended with a last gentle chord. His fingers lingered on the keys for a moment as if to savour the music until the very last faint trace of sound had faded.

When he finally disengaged his hands from the instrument, someone applauded. Rosie saw Joan and Bella by the counter, eagerly clapping their hands. She joined in quickly.

The foreign piano player accepted their applause with a graceful little nod and took down the little stack of sheet music that sat atop the instrument, leafing through it as if entirely oblivious of the fact that he was not alone.

Rosie waved hello at the other women and joined them wordlessly, watching the young man go through his papers. She was pleased to find her first impression confirmed at second glance. He _was_ beautiful, very much so, with high jutting cheekbones, a strong patrician nose (now she finally understood what it was that those romance writers must mean by _patrician)_ and heavy-lidded eyes.

She wanted to question Joan and Bella about him, wanted to hear all there was to know about this mysterious piano player – who he was, where he came from, how and when he had got to play the piano in Harry's little bar – but she found she could not take her eyes off him for a second.

Mesmerized, she watched him pull a sheet from the sheaf of paper, put the rest back on top of the piano and take down a half-filled glass, draining it in one go before he lit himself a cigarette with the same elegant ease in every motion that had fascinated her when he had been playing, even from behind, without seeing his face.

Again, she stood and stared without a word. Never had she seen anyone smoke a cigarette in such style, yet wholly unaffected. There was nothing camp or foppish about him. All that grace and beauty were entirely natural.

Out of nowhere, there was a tiny whisper inside her head, questioning if she would really mind if Jeff did not come back this time.

She had always adored his big, strong football player's body with well-trained arms and legs, and his immense size had made her feel safe.

But now, with that little voice asking nagging questions in her mind, she admitted for the first time what she had been feeling for a while - that he had begun to get on her nerves. No, that was not the right expression. He had begun to bore her.

Jeff was always good for a joke, he was a wonderful dancer despite his stout appearance, and, well, yes, he was fabulous in bed. But did he really have to be so moody, so coarse, and so _stupid? _Suddenly his ostentatious lack of knowledge or even interest in anything that didn't involve sports or drink or some other kind of amusement had lost all its previous charm for her because of this enticing new arrival who looked like he had some brains to go with his attractive appearance.

The stranger had got up from the piano stool, the half-smoked cigarette between his lips, empty glass in hand, and came walking across the room.

Straight towards her.

He was taller than she'd thought, well built with long legs and narrow hips, his posture and stride confident, but without a trace of Jeff's boastful swagger.

"Hello there", he said to her, passing the empty glass to Bella for a refill. The skinny blonde scampered away eagerly.

He took the cigarette from his mouth and extended the other hand to Rosie with the hint of a smile. "We haven't met, but I guess you must be Rosie. Pleased to meet you. I'm Mick."

She shook his hand and nodded, tongue-tied. A shiver ran down her spine at the sound of his voice. Judging from his slender figure and fine face, she had imagined it to be boyish and a little reedy, but it was anything but. Dark velvet was what his low, slightly gravelly voice brought to mind.

"I'm renting the little room upstairs. Harry agreed to knock a few dollars off the rent if I play the piano once or twice a week. He said you had a lovely singing voice. Maybe we can do a few songs together tonight. If you want to, that is."

She nodded again, unable to speak until she had cleared her throat and uttered a croaky, "Yes, I'd love that, very much so."

Joan smiled to herself as she and retreated into the kitchen, promising to fix a little meal for the two of them before the first guests would arrive.

"Mick. That sounds Irish", Rosie said – the first thing that came to her confused mind. "Are you?"

"Partly, on my mother's side", he replied with a smile. "My grandpa's parents came over from Ireland when he was little."

She launched into a monologue about her own ancestry and her love for Irish folk songs. He listened with what looked like genuine interest, his head cocked to one side ever so slightly, dark, deep eyes resting on her face.

She blushed when she realized that she had gushed on and on without a pause and hastily said, "Now tell me something about yourself."

He didn't let on too much about his background, just stating that he was twenty years old and that he'd arrived in town a few days ago in search of a job and a room, coming across Harry's bar in the process and striking the aforementioned deal about the rent.

From close up, he appeared older than twenty with his dark five o'clock shadow and mystifying eyes that seemed at a time young and vulnerable and wise beyond his years.

Normally, she preferred beefier, bulkier men with coarser faces, but the delicate, almost fragile features of this stranger affirmed this sudden, unsettling notion of wanting him.

Joan came back with two heaped plates, placed them on a corner table and made an inviting gesture. Bella returned also, bringing Mick's refilled glass. "Want something, too?" she asked Rosie in an irritable tone. When Rosie nodded, she went to get her a glass of water that she slammed down on the tabletop unceremoniously before she stalked away.

Rosie wondered if it was just Bella's usual evil mood or perhaps jealousy. She hoped there wasn't … no, from watching Mick's face, she was pretty sure that all jealousy on Bella's part would be nothing more than wishful thinking.

His next remark proved her right. "Grumpy creature, Bella."

"Yes, she is", Rosie nodded, satisfied at his dismissive undertone.

"Does she ever smile?"

"No idea." Their eyes met, and both of them laughed.

Mick tucked into his fried potatoes as if he hadn't eaten in days. Rosie ate slowly and without much appetite, trying to figure out what exactly was happening to her.

She had always been rather pragmatic with regard to her own love life, despite the sappy romances she loved to devour in her spare time. Now she found herself suddenly star-struck, something that was entirely new to her.

"… Rosie?"

She blushed, embarrassed that she had been so lost in her own thoughts while she was sitting so close to him.

"Sorry, my mind was … elsewhere for a moment", she stammered.

"With your boyfriend, huh?" he teased, and she hurried to assert that this was not the case, that, in fact, she didn't … really … have one right now.

Was that a relieved smile on his face or was he just being nice?

* * *

It was a long night after all, not the quiet shift she'd hoped for, but she found she didn't mind her sore feet and the endless running to and fro with her heavy tray at all. She flirted with some of the patrons, warded off some unsavoury proposals from others and took every chance she got to hover around the corner where the piano was.

Mick was quite busy. The crowd was in a good mood tonight, and people kept shouting their requests at the piano player. There were a few he denied, admitting honestly that he didn't know the tune, but he always came up with some alternative and nobody complained.

Late in the evening, she allowed herself a half-pint of beer and felt ready to make good on her promise to sing a few songs.

Some of the regulars cheered and whistled as she and Mick put their heads together to pick their first song. In her somewhat confused state, she had trouble remembering the words of her favourite, _The Star of the County Down. _Mick bought her some time to think by improvising a little introduction, and when she did begin to sing, all the verses came easily to her.

The crowd broke into spontaneous applause when they were finished, and one of the sailors said, "My God, Rosie love, you're better than ever tonight!"

The _Star_ had been the first of many, many songs of the evening, and it was way past midnight when the last guests were leaving.

Rosie went around the bar one last time, wiping down the tables. Mick closed the lid of the piano and went to get a broom. Usually it was Harry himself who swept the floor after hours, but he'd had a bit too much and was snoring on a chair in the corner. That cow Bella had once again walked out on the stroke of midnight. Nobody missed her, although it galled Rosie a bit that she never stayed around to clean up after hours.

"Thanks", Rosie said to Mick when they were finished. "Thanks for helping me. And thanks for the music. That was fun."

"Yes, it was. I hope we'll get to do that again", he said, shrugging into his jacket. "Do you live around here? I'll walk you home. Don't want you to be out all on your own at this time."

How sweet of him, she thought. She was very well able to look after herself, not least due to the sharp little knife she kept in her purse, but she was immensely charmed by his chivalry and happily accepted his offer.

"Bye, Harry", Mick called. The figure in the corner simply snored on. Rosie grinned at the thought how Joan would give him a piece of her mind when she found him like that.

It was quite chilly outside at that late hour, and she pulled her cardigan tightly around her thin dress.

"Are you cold?" he asked sympathetically.

She shook her head vehemently and was immediately belied by a irrepressible shiver.

"Oh, come on, don't try to be brave. I can see your goosebumps." He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

She inhaled deeply; it smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and of …him.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes", she admitted. And then, boldly, she put a tentative arm around his waist. "Much better."

He was radiating warmth, even in the cool nightly air with only the shirt on. Another shiver ran through her, this time not caused by the cold.

His arm came to rest lightly on her shoulders, without pulling her against him or trying to feel her up like most other men would have done. Excitement fluttered in her stomach like dancing butterflies as she felt his touch, his large warm hand on her upper arm, and she moved a little closer on her own account.

They walked the short way to the little side street where she lived in companionable silence.

The only street lamp gave off a dim glow that did little to light the pavement, but that was just as well. While Rosie fumbled for her key in her purse, Mick looked up at the black sky. It was a clear night, and the longer he stared into the darkness, the more stars seemed to come out.

"Isn't this beautiful?" he said in a low voice. The key in hand, she stepped over to stand beside him once more. He raised his arm and pointed. "Look, there's the Big Dipper. And see, over there …"

As Rosie tilted her head back to look at the constellations, she saw a faint light from the corner of her eye that should not be there, on the top floor behind the window of her small room. She gave a startled gasp.

Jeff. He had a duplicate key. And he'd been waiting for her return before, lurking at the window, watching the street from above until she came home, questioning her why exactly she had been working so late.

If he'd see her with Mick, she wasn't sure what she was in for.

Jeff had never become actually violent with her, not physically, but he did have a short fuse and was quick to use his fists against anyone who as much as looked at her. And Mick was one of those smart, good-looking guys Jeff loathed and despised.

She wasn't exactly sure why she felt certain that he would be up there to threaten her or worse. She only knew that she was suddenly afraid he'd take his jealousy out on her physically.

Mick had not realized immediately that she wasn't following his explanations any more, but when she said his name in a small voice, he was alarmed. "What is it, Rosie?"

"I … there's a light on in my room, and I believe my boy … my former boyfriend may have sneaked up there. He's done that before. He's … he's a bit of a loose cannon when he's jealous. And he's still very jealous about me, even though it's over." No, that's not a lie, she thought, it _is _over for me. I just haven't told him yet. Please, dear God, don't let him be in there. "So if he's seen us together …"

"… you might be in trouble", Mick finished the sentence for her, and she nodded, although she now feared for his safety as well as for her own.

"Shall come upstairs with you? I guess I'll find a way to tell him to leave you alone finally. Give me your key."

She nodded again, handed him the key ring with a shaky hand and timidly kept herself behind his tall figure as they walked up the dark staircase. She held her breath as he turned the key in the lock. No sound from inside, only a streak of wan light that fell across the floor as he opened the door with the peeling brown paint.

He gestured at her to stay where she was, flicked on the ceiling light and slipped into her attic chamber through the half-open door.

Her heart was hammering wildly as she listened for a furious curse, a startled cry or any noise that hinted at a fight.

The only thing she heard was the characteristic creak of her wardrobe door and a muffled bump, followed by Mick swearing under his breath.

She didn't dare look up until he opened the door fully and said, "All clear! Nobody there. Never was, I daresay, unless he climbed out the window, which is pretty unlikely. The only thing I ran into was the foot of your bed. The little lamp on your nightstand was on, though. Guess you switched it on accidentally before you left."

Her knees buckled, weak with relief but even more with immense embarrassment at her childish fear, and she staggered forward. He caught her before she fell, holding her against himself for a moment to steady her, and suddenly silly, childish tears filled her eyes.

She wanted to blink them away but only succeeded in making them roll down her cheeks.

"You must think I'm a complete idiot, some stupid girl who sees things that aren't there", she said, sniffling as she pulled away from him, and wiped at her eyes angrily with the back of her arm.

He pulled a checked blue-and-white handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her. "Not at all. You were afraid, and you must be tired. That's a combination to make even big girls cry."

She smiled in spite of herself.

He said, "I'll better go now. Sleep well, Rosie. See you at Harry's tomorrow."

He hesitated for a second before he took her hand and brushed it gently with his lips.

The subtle touch had her tingling all over.

She watched him leave and wished he had done much more than this chaste kiss, something to quench the desire that burned within her, down there in that secret place that she wished he, not Jeff, could have been the first man to discover.

* * *

Jeff didn't show up again until a week later, still grumpy that she'd shown him the door that morning. No five minutes after he'd arrived, he was stomping off in a huff after throwing his key at her because she'd refused to apologize for throwing him out.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish!" she shouted after him, slamming the door shut.

She hurled herself across her bed, punching her pillow, and succumbed to a short but vicious fit of sobbing, furious at how he had treated her, but when this was over, she felt calm and confident. She knew she had done the right thing in turning him out.

At the time she'd just wanted a break from his moods and not been entirely averse to take him back in after a while – but that had been before she had met the taciturn, alluring piano player with the deep soulful eyes. She didn't know much about him except for his name and age and that he'd come down from one of the fishing villages on the coast, but what were those sober facts to her anyway? What she needed to know about him was not in his words but in his gentle manner and the quiet kindness he showed to most everyone, the ironic humour that shone through once in a while and the way he immersed himself completely in his music when he was playing.

And, of course, the way he made her feel whenever she was near him. When she just looked at him across the crowded bar. Even when she did nothing more than think of him, imagining his arm around her again, the arm with the large seahorse tattoo that seemed to speak of a mysterious, adventurous past.

When she entered the bar the next afternoon, Bella, who always thrived when she had picked up a particularly juicy piece of gossip to torment someone with, greeted her with a smirk, inquiring sanctimoniously how she was feeling now that Jeff had left town.

She managed to hide her surprise and ensuing relief behind an imperturbable face and a monosyllabic dismissive answer, pretending she had been in on his plan to join the crew of some cargo carrier that would be off to Europe soon.

Secretly, she rejoiced. It was almost too good to be true, the problem of Jeff dissolving like that.

She ached to tell Mick, but he seemed to take his time tonight. The piano remained mute in its corner, the lid closed over the keyboard, the stacks of sheet music untouched, no glowing cigarette in the ashtray.

Nervously, she kept casting quick glances in the direction of the door, disappointed, worried and a little angry at the same time. She cursed herself for never wearing her watch to work. It wasn't like him to show up so late, particularly not on a Friday when the bar was crowded.

When she couldn't bear it any longer, she asked one of the regulars what time it was. "Quarter past seven, love", he boomed. "Why're you askin'? Leavin' early tonight? Got a date?"

"Oh, Arthur, _no!_ Gotta work to pay the rent. Just felt like I'd lost track of time."

A few minutes later, he came in through the back door while she was serving a table of sailors who'd already had too much at that early hour. She hadn't noticed anyone entering, and it was by chance that she turned her head and looked straight into his eyes as he walked in, his hair swept back from his face in an unfamiliar way, appearing damp and even more curly than usual.

She set the last pint down on the table so hard that it spilled over and couldn't help but hurry towards him, pushing her empty serving tray off the tabletop with her hip as she spun round. It clattered to the floor, but she didn't bother to pick it up.

"Mick! There you are finally! Where have you been?"

He broke into a broad smile. "Found a job at the shipyard and had to work late right away, and I needed to wash before coming here. Can't possibly show up stinking like a polecat." Still grinning, he bent to retrieve the fallen tray and handed it back to her. "Why'd you drop your tray when you saw me? Am I looking so ugly tonight?"

She laughed, a bubbling, liberating laugh that washed away all the tension. She didn't even mind that all the guests' eyes seemed to be on them now.

"You look ravishing."

He raised his eyebrows in mock embarrassment. "Ravishing. No one's ever called me that."

"Then it's about time someone did. And it's about time someone did this." She took a determined step forward, rose on her tiptoes and, pulling his face towards him with both her hands on his cheeks, kissed him right on the mouth in the middle of the crowded bar.

Some of the regulars hooted and applauded. "Go for it, piano man!" one of them shouted.

Mick showed no sign of surprise at her bold advance. His mouth was soft and warm on hers, and excitement prickled within her as the tip of his tongue brushed her lips and his arms came around her for a moment before he pushed her back gently and whispered "Later!" into her ear.

She nodded and went to get him a drink while he strode over to open the piano and play a few bars of _Black Velvet Band_. Rosie smiled to herself. He had quickly picked up on her favourites.

The evening flew by. It was another busy night, the crowd keeping her on her toes, making companionable or suggestive remarks about her and the piano player until she was unnerved and told them to cut it out finally.

Mick accompanying her on her way home had become their little ritual after the bar closed down. He had not come upstairs with her again after that first time, though.

Tonight he did.

When he hovered uneasily outside her door, not ready to say goodbye but uncertain of what else to do, she simply took both of his hands, pulled him into her room and locked the door from inside.

His face was a mixture of insecure apprehension and excited anticipation. There was a smile playing around his lips as he swallowed hard, obviously not quite sure what was expected of him.

She stood in front of him after she'd thrown her light coat carelessly over the back of a chair and stepped out of her shoes. He was at least five inches taller than she was. Without shoes on, her nose came up to his breastbone. She tugged at the lapel of his jacket and said, "Won't you take that off?"

He obeyed and tossed the jacket onto the chair, baring his shapely forearms. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, as always. He was wearing a white shirt today that set off his tan very nicely. She ran a finger along the outline of the seahorse on his left arm, making the fine black hairs stand on end.

His other arm encircled her, drawing her close. She nestled her head into his armpit and traced the edges of the triangle of skin at the open neck of his shirt.

He lowered his head and kissed the top of hers while she slowly began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it loose from his trousers when she was finished to make it fall to his sides, baring his chest with its appealing fuzz of soft dark hair. It was a perfect sight. She didn't like men to look like hairy apes but totally hairless baby chests weren't for her either.

With a little sigh, she leaned her head against his chest. He smelled of a heady mixture of cigarette smoke and soap and himself, an unfamiliar, thrilling scent she inhaled deeply.

He shivered as her lips brushed his skin. She stepped back for a second, hoping she had not gone too far and this was a shiver of excitement, not a shudder of revulsion. The next moment, his hands were on her back, firmly but gently pressing her against his towering figure. Standing so close, it became quite clear that the attraction and desire were mutual.

He put a finger under her chin, tilting her face upwards for another passionate kiss, then his hand slid down, haltingly, pausing at the neckline of her dress before he fumbled open the three top buttons and softly cupped her breast, very lightly, as if expecting to get slapped for crossing some invisible line.

She laid a reassuring hand over his, lifting his other hand to her lips. He had beautiful hands, a pianist's hands with long, slender fingers, not soft and white like some spoilt rich brat's but bronzed and strong, fine-boned with callused palms that spoke of real, hard work.

Emboldened, she proceeded to take him by the hands again and lead him over to her bed. His eyes grew wide for a moment, but he said nothing, letting her unbuckle his brown leather belt and unbutton his trousers, watching her open the rest of the tiny buttons on her dress and slip it off her shoulders.

He shrugged off his shirt, his eyes still following her movements as she unhooked her brassiere and flung it on the floor where her dress lay in a disorderly heap.

He bent down to pull off his shoes and socks and bit his lip when he found her stretched out long on the bed in all her nakedness as he straightened up. His hands went to the waistband of his trousers and came away again, obviously hesitant about laying bare the extent of his arousal.

"Don't be shy", she said with an encouraging smile. "I know you want it as much as I do."

Still he blushed as his trousers and underpants finally came off to expose narrow hips and an exquisite little behind and, of course, something else. His shyness was oddly touching. She hadn't expected that in someone with his worldly-wise air.

He lay beside her gingerly, glancing bashfully down his front. She laughed and said, "No need to be ashamed. That's what's supposed to happen, isn't it?"

"I guess so", he said, blushing even deeper.

"Uh, Mick … you're not … this is not your … I mean, you've done it before, haven't you?"

He shook his head in mute embarrassment.

"Oh, no worries, that's fine. I'll be your teacher, then. Come on, I'm all yours. There's nothing to be afraid of."

She moved closer, moulding her body against his, ran a hand down the curved length of his back to rest on his hip for a moment before casually moving on to his groin, softly caressing him until his tension melted under her touch and he reached out for her, pulling her against him, finding her warm, welcoming little cave, filling her, rolling her over on her back with gentle determination, moving inside her with newfound confidence, moaning softly, breathing harder as their rhythm picked up speed.

Her nose lay against his shoulder, his mouth against her ear. She nipped his shoulder lightly with her teeth as a wild, wonderful, lusty feeling was building up inside her like a large exotic flower unfurling its splendid golden petals into a dazzling show of gorgeous beauty.

Clawing at his taut little backside, she arched her back in one last giant sweeping rush of excitement and gave a throaty gasp, panting his name as the golden flower burst into a million tiny shards.

Little later, he let out several hoarse little cries, the muscles of his firm flat belly rippling as a violent climax shook his body, leaving him limp and sweaty and silent on top of her for a moment, his head falling face down on the pillow beside her.

After a minute, he raised his head and laid his cheek against hers. He seemed about to say something but refrained.

Instead, he kissed her cheek and rolled over cautiously to lie beside her. She pulled the covers over both of them, snuggling against his side, falling asleep quickly.

When she woke up, it was already light outside.

For a moment, she was confused that she wasn't alone in her bed, but there was a warm, fuzzy feeling inside her that brought back the memory of the night before, and as she turned over and opened her eyes, she was met by a pair of eyes she had, as she realized now, never seen in broad daylight before. She was surprised to find they were not that dark at all but an unsettling, vivid green that was impossible to put a name to.

Dark, bluish shadows under the lower lids hinted at a night that had not been quite as restful for him as it had been for her. She felt a little guilty for making him sleep in her short, narrow bed, but his sunny little smile told her that he didn't regret anything.

"Good morning, my lovely little teacher", he whispered, leaning over her to kiss her cheek. "Are you ready for another lesson?"


End file.
